


A Door in the Dark

by Dark_Ruby_Regalia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kissing, Lost & Found, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Promnis Holiday Exchange 2020 (Final Fantasy XV), Strange Things Afoot on All Hallows' Eve, Timey Wimey Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia/pseuds/Dark_Ruby_Regalia
Summary: “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Prompto ventured, needing to know, but not wanting to hear the answer.“I wish I weren’t, Prompto. You have no idea how badly I wish it wasn’t true.” Ignis stroked Prompto’s cheek again, tenderly this time, as though Prompto was a memory he was fondly recollecting…~It’s All Hallows’ Eve, and everything goes awry. Lost and alone, Prompto wishes desperately that someone cared about him enough to come and find him. And then... Ignis does.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63
Collections: Promnis Holiday Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roshytsunami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roshytsunami/gifts).



Prompto dragged his feet dejectedly through long, dried grasses painted golden by the setting sun. They’d been hiking all day on this overgrown path, and by afternoon realised that even if they turned back, they’d never make it to camp before dark. So, with all the bravado and bolster their camaraderie could muster, they decided to keep hunting into nightfall, following the vague directions of a farmer they’d found deep in his cups at a Cleigne bar who mumbled something about seeing a ruin out in these woods somewhere, maybe.

“Think I can see it,” Gladiolus mumbled, pointing vaguely through the trees ahead of them. “Something different, at least.”

“I see it too — those straight edges are a sure giveaway for a manmade structure.” For the millionth time that day, Ignis pulled a limp paper napkin from his pocket and analysed the crudely drawn map thereon. “Good to know that while our directions did not give accurate distances, they haven’t lead us entirely astray. We’ll know for sure if we can find the ‘old oak’ the farmer described.”

“You mean that giant dead tree up ahead?” Noctis, leading their single-file procession, flung a humoured eye roll over his shoulder.

“We’re in a deciduous forest in late Fall. It’s not dead; just dormant.”

“Thanks, Professor Specs.”

“Any time, Noct.”

Prompto had been looking forward to an evening huddled around a campfire, their backs turned against the evening chill while their cheeks warmed, swapping ghost-stories well into the night until they were too weary to continue, but too spooked to fall asleep. He’d spent his morning fantasising about sitting next to Ignis, finding all those subtle ways he could bring their shoulders together, or brush hands, or linger overlong on a shared gaze — all those sweet little incidentals that sent his pulse racing, setting his skin alight. His crush had been smouldering steadily for years now, warm, safe and innocuous, but this trip was giving it room to grow and to hunger, and he was powerless to stop it. Or maybe he didn’t want to stop it. Oh gods, maybe he was setting himself up to have heartache for life, but for now, he’d savour every electric second he could spend trailing Ignis’ slim frame as the four of them hunted down these tombs, restoring them to the hallowed annals of Lucis-Caelum history. Who knew Noctis would get so motivated to map his weird ancestry? Maybe that was it — precisely because it _was_ so weird. Noctis was the first to make fun of family legacies, after all, being the reluctant Prince and whatever. Something Prompto resonated with, having grown up with absent parents of his own. These days, the four of them — himself, Noctis, Gladiolus and Ignis — were the closest thing he’d count as family. 

And all things said, staying up all night trying to find yet another old dead dude interred in a creepy sarcophagus with monsters carved all over the lid was definitely appropriate for All Hallows’ Eve. And sure, he had to admit it was an amazing experience to tag along on these trips; he was now considering adding archaeology as an elective to his arts degree. But none of his fantasies included this many blisters, this much food from a tin or this much sweat — okay, so maybe _some_ of his fantasies got pretty sweaty, but—

He walked right into the back of Ignis, not realising the others had stopped. 

“S— sorry, Iggy.” He blushed, but needn’t have worried — Ignis flickered a brief smile, but otherwise ignored him.

“It’s nothing like the other tombs,” Noctis said, staring up at the crumbling tower that rose ahead of them. It was ominous and ancient and overgrown with lichens, and even Prompto knew by looking that it outdated everything else they’d seen by centuries.

“I don’t think it is one,” Ignis said. “Those markings on the architrave over the doors are an archaic script that bears no resemblance to the carvings on Lucian tombs.”

Something about the place gave Prompto the willies. He shivered, despite being overwarm after the hours of walking that brought them there. He hung back while the other three made their way to the ruin, dropping their daypacks into a pile, then clambering over the fallen rubble and stone to rub lichen from engraved markings. But overhead the tangled web of great oak branches began to look like sinister fingers, blackened to silhouette against the blood-stained sky of sunset, and the forest was filling with night-noises as everything nocturnal woke and declared itself. He added his pack to the pile, then scampered forward to join in the exploration, staying close to Ignis, trying to ignore his growing sense of unease. 

“Kinda creepy, don’t you think?” he said, and did his laugh sound nervous? Could they tell he was a wee bit freaked out?

“Yeah, it kinda is,” Noctis agreed. “Like we’re gonna release an ancient curse or something.”

“Oh my gods, Noct, you’re not helping,” but even that small acknowledgement helped ease Prompto’s nerves. They were in this together, after all.

“It must be another remnant from the lost Solheim civilisation. Some of these markings look similar.” Ignis was in his element with stuff like this — his eyes bright and intense, his mind sharp and engaged. Prompto loved watching him while he was absorbed in his work, not least because he could get away with so much staring. “If only we could get that topmost line cleared.”

“Hey Noct, I’ll give you a boost,” Gladiolus said.

“Why me?”

“You’re the smallest.”

“Hey, I am not! Prompto’s shorter!”

“But I’m fatter,” Prompto said, sparing the rest of them from having to say it out loud. He’d dropped a lot of his puppy-fat during his teens, but never quite lost his soft edges, the fullness to his freckled cheeks or the roundness to his belly. 

“Prompto, you’re not— well, you’re…” Noctis was trying to be kind, but also trying not to lie. Prompto appreciated that.

“I objectively am, and it’s fine.” And he meant that, mostly — he was okay with it most days. He had good friends, and a small life, and the one person he desired was way out of his league anyway. There were plenty of other things he could give himself a hard time over instead.

Ignis ran a reassuring yet unexpected hand over his shoulders. “It’s an adjective, not an assessment of value. I’m tall, Noctis is tired, Gladiolus is—”

“An entire boulder sculpted in the form of a man?” Noctis delivered in his usual deadpan.

“That precisely, yes.”

“You saying I’m a work of art?” Gladiolus stood tall, hands on hips, and quirked an eyebrow suggestively.

They all laughed, and Gladiolus hoisted Noctis onto his shoulder as though he weighed no more than a kitten, and Noctis rubbed away the tendrils of growth that obscured the topmost line on the lintel, held secure in Gladiolus’ muscular arms. Then Gladiolus dropped him lightly back to the ground, and the four of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder to look up at their great reveal. 

Shadows had grown dense and heavy in the failing light, and each crevasse filled thick with them, painting the markings in sinister shades of black — an ink formed from the darkness of the earth itself. And if that wasn’t dramatic enough, as the sun finally fell below the horizon and the last trace of daylight left the sky, each mark began to glow from the heart of those shadows, a menacing, pulsing, blood-curdled red.

“Oh shit.” Prompto didn’t swear all that much, but now certainly seemed to be the right time. He instinctively drew nearer Ignis’ side. “You’re all seeing that, right? It’s not just me?”

“It’s definitely not just you.”

“Hey Iggy, you studied Ancient Solheim for a while. Can you read any of it?” Noctis walked closer to the giant door, then looked back at Ignis expectantly. The two of them were incredibly close, and shared a private world nobody else could enter. It transcended their roles as Prince and Adviser, and was profoundly more committed than family; they were bound to each other through oath, for life. 

Prompto didn’t think he was the jealous type, but sometimes that petty part of him was provoked. Like right that moment, when Ignis walked from Prompto’s side to stand by Noctis, without the slightest hesitation.

“The letter-forms are different, but they bear similarities to known root-examples of the language. I can guess at some of it, but won’t really know what it means.”

“Go on, then,” Noctis urged. “We might get the gist at least.”

“Hey guys? Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t know if we should be reading weird glowing words on an ancient ruin on All Hallows’ Eve when we’re an entire day’s walk from anything remotely resembling civilisation.” Both Ignis and Noctis turned blank looks at Prompto in unison, as though _he’d_ just spoken in unknown tongues. 

“Prompto’s probably right,” Gladiolus said. “Maybe just take a photo and we’ll look into it when we get home? Iggy, you can see if the archive has any info on the place.”

“It doesn’t,” Ignis said. “I’ve been through it multiple times, and there wasn’t anything mapped out here.”

“And yet, here we are.”

“We were simply told there were ruins in these woods, not what kind of ruins they were. The assumption we’d find a Royal Tomb was ours alone.”

“How high is your clearance these days, Iggy?” Gladiolus asked, and Ignis suddenly looked sheepish, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“I only have level four clearance.” _Only level four,_ he says, as if that isn’t already four levels deeper than most officials have access to, in an archive off-limits to civilians. “Admittedly, the archive goes to level six.”

‘Huh,” Gladiolus huffed. He was impressed. So was Prompto. But here was proof: _way out of his league._

“This word here,” and Ignis pointed to indicate, “I think it’s speaking about a doorway.”

“Well, it is inscribed on a lintel over a door,” Noctis added.

“Not a door in the literal sense; more like a… spirit door.” 

“What, like a portal?” Gladiolus was succumbing to the group curiosity. He joined the huddle. 

Once again Prompto found himself standing alone. He scrambled forward to include himself again, fitting himself between the dual protection of Gladiolus’ bulk and Ignis’ surety. This close, the letters almost seemed to thrum, warping the air with a sinister vibration, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck, provoking his primal flight-response. He was so preoccupied with subduing his jangled nerves, he didn’t immediately register that Ignis was speaking — reciting those unknown words in his beautiful voice, like a chant, a prayer, an invocation. 

And then those immovable doors split down the middle with the the sickening crack of shattered rock, and that ghastly red light flooded everything, surrounding Prompto in its glow, constricting around him, pulling him, dragging him, swallowing him down. He screamed, yet no sound left his throat; he thrashed, yet found no purchase — no grass, no stone, no stable hand — he felt nothing beneath his desperately scrambling fingers. There was only that monstrous, suffocating light and the ungodly groan of hell yawning, hungry and undeniable. His entire world churned, then collapsed to nothing, and he was left in the darkness with a soul-rending echo in his ear: his own name, _Prompto,_ over and over, in Igins’ broken scream.

~

He must have passed out. When his senses returned, he found himself lying on cold, rough-hewn flagstones. And that, he realised, was all he knew: wherever he was, it was black as pitch, and silent as death. He could hear his own heartbeat and each ragged breath he drew into his panicked lungs, but that was it — that was all he had as reassurance he was still alive. He blinked a surge of tears from his eyes. 

“Iggy?” he shouted, and his voice sounded muffled, unable to travel in this air. “Noct?” he called, softer this time. And to keep the group alive in his heart, “Gladio?” though this barely a whisper. 

_Okay,_ he thought. _Think, think, think._ What would Ignis do? Gods, who knows. Ignis operated on different level; Prompto could never hope to think like him. So what would Gladiolus do? Punch through a wall, probably. Well, that was out. Noctis? That was easy: he’d wait for Ignis to save him. Ugh, if only. 

He stood up cautiously on shaky legs, then reached upward as far as he could. Nothing. If there was a ceiling to this place, it was higher than he was. _Congratulations, Prompto, you have deduced precisely nothing,_ he scolded himself; all ceilings were higher than he was.

So he shuffled slowly forwards, arms outstretched, and in the darkness he seemed to shuffle forever, with no concept of how long each of his steps were, nor how much distance he was travelling. Maybe it was an endless room, and he’d shuffle forward for miles, or forever. Then a new thought dawned: if he strayed too far, he’d never be able to find his way back to that doorway. He whimpered his distress into the muffling darkness, recalling to mind terrible tales about people lost in blizzards, only to be found frozen in the snow the following day mere feet from their refuge. Maybe that would be him — groping blindly through the darkness trying to find a way out, only to get himself too lost to be located by a search party. But what else could he do? Stay in one place like a child lost at the supermarket? He never knew what that was like, except as a concept in cautionary tales.

He dropped his arms dejectedly to his side. He never had parents who told him they’d be there, no matter what; that if he was separated from those he loved, all he need do is wait while they searched for him. He had never been the centre of anyone’s universe like that. Not even close.

No, he’d had to solve all his problems himself, up to now. People didn’t come searching for him. He bit his lip, raised his arms again, and took another faltering step forward. 

Slow as he was going, it was an unexpected shock to jar his fingertips painfully against a wall. The endlessness that existed in his mind began to feel— well, less _endless._ This really was just a room after all; where there was one wall, there would be more. A boundary. 

He knew another story about getting lost in a maze — that the trick is to reach out and place one hand on the maze wall, then keep that contact as you walked. Eventually, through every dead end and false path, one would find their way out, convoluted though the path may be. In fact, thinking back, it was Ignis who told him: the four of them had gone to a pumpkin festival on All Hallows’ Eve a few years back, and they’d gotten lost in an enormous corn maze, or so they’d thought, and he and Noctis were lamenting how very far away they were from the pie cart, which they could smell on the air, sweet and spiced and warm. Ignis had explained the maze trick then, and had in so few words dispelled every scrap of wonder those convoluted passageways held, reducing them to logic and design. They hadn’t followed his advice that night, though — Gladiolus had hoisted Noctis onto his shoulder then too, and Noctis shamelessly directed them out, like a king on his throne. The centre of the universe. And after all that, the pie had tasted so much better for how long they’d spent in anticipation.

How strange that it was now exactly four years later to the day, and here Prompto was making use of that advice. He placed the flat of his left palm against the wall, and began shuffling again. 

The absolute blackness was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. Of course he’d left his daypack outside, and his torch along with it. In the absence of any other trace of information, all he had to focus on was himself and his four remaining senses: his scuffling footfall and the susurrus of his clothes; the surging thump of his adrenaline heart; the smell of his own fear and the dirt of the day stuck by sweat to his cooling skin; the rough drag of stone against his fingers, and the strange regularity of its pockmarked surface. There was probably some peace to be found in this sensory deprivation, if his life hadn’t been hurled upside-down and his world erased by it. People paid for this kind of thing, right? To be stuck into float tanks that blocked out the world.

Somewhere he knew there was an entirely soundless room that would drive people mad if they stayed inside it too long. Some kind of laboratory thing they’d test equipment and astronauts in. Ignis had talked about it in a car ride once, and how he hoped one day to sit inside, to know what it’s like, to see how long he could last. _It’s anechoic,_ he’d explained; _you can hear your own blood flowing through your veins._ It sounded kinda cool, at the time — probably because Ignis was explaining it, and because he was so excited about it. He was always fascinated by science at the frontiers of human tolerance. 

“Well, Iggy, you missed your chance,” Prompto said out loud. Then he laughed hysterically — probably only five minutes had passed, and he’d already started talking to himself. This was it, wasn’t it? The madness coming for him, unravelling his mind. Why delay the inevitable, though. “Wish you were here. With a torch.”

Beneath his fingertips, the topography of the stone abruptly changed, and Prompto stopped to investigate. He placed his other hand on the wall too, learning this new information by touch — finding a seam in the wall’s construction, and beyond it an indent, and within that indent a smoother expanse of yet more stone. It felt like the recess of a large door, and for a second his heart rejoiced, before he fumblingly realised there was no mechanism to open it — there was nothing he could do to make his way through. He pushed at it for a while, harder and harder, then threw his shoulder against it with enough force that he knew it would leave a bruise. Futile. So he leaned against it, out of breath and fighting back his tears again.

“Come on, Prompto, keep it together,” he muttered. “If there’s a door, then it’s just a room, and the others will come for you.”

He wished he believed that. There was something decidedly _off_ about this place; something sinister and very un-room-like. And he was sure, when all those reddened symbols had flared as Ignis read them, that the stone hadn’t really opened at all, and he’d been sucked _through_ it, devoured by that light, and stranded here in this suffocating darkness. 

He sunk to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest, curling up on himself to process, to think. But Gods, was he ever exhausted…

A shrieking rend in the air flared bright in the room, and the stone walls rumbled their dissent like thunder. Prompto’s head flew up, but the flash of light disappeared as fast as it came, leaving him momentarily blinded by its lightning-fast dissolution. One flickering spot remained, and he blinked a few more times to dislodge it from his retina, only— 

“Hello?” he called out, his voice wavering. “Anyone there?”

“Prompto?” The speck of light turned his way. “Where are you?” _Ignis._ Ignis had come for him.

“Over here,” Prompto said weakly, giddy with relief. “Follow my voice, I guess?”

The light — a flashlight — drew nearer, bouncing with motion as Ignis hurried toward him. He came sliding to a crouch at Prompto’s feet, and before Prompto knew what was happening, he was pulled tight into Ignis’ arms, against his chest, his hair a messy tangle between Ignis’ fervently clambering fingers. 

“You’re really alive?” Did… did Ignis sound like he was crying? Ignis broke their embrace so he could cradle Prompto’s face in his hands, stroking gingerly at his cheek just once. “I thought I’d lost you, Prompto.” And Prompto was wrapped in Ignis’ arms again, and Ignis was nestled against his neck, holding him so desperately Prompto could hardly breathe.

“Ah, I’m fine, Iggy.” He hugged Ignis back as best he could, confused though he was by this sudden and unusual intensity of affection. He wasn’t complaining, of course — he’d longed for similar plenty of times — but there was a despair to this he didn’t understand; a disbelief lacing Ignis’ tone. “Is everyone else okay?”

Ignis sniffled and pulled away, though he kept tight hold of Prompto’s hand, twining their fingers together. “Yes, they’re fine. They miss you too.”

Prompto chuckled nervously. “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? It’s only been, what, twenty minutes or something?” He was trying not to over-exaggerate.

Ignis tensed rigid, and for a long moment, he fell ominously, awfully silent. “Prompto,” he said cautiously, his grip on Prompto’s hand tightening, “it’s been two years since you disappeared.”

~


	2. Chapter 2

Two years?

Well, that was an unusual joke. Ignis was always quick to throw a witty quip here and there, but Prompto had never known him to play actual tricks on people like this. His sense of humour had always been incredibly silly, for one, and incredibly benign, for another, unless he was roasting some poor fellow who’d run afoul of Noctis, in which case Ignis went all out. Though that wasn’t  _ funny  _ as much as it was  _ terrifying. _

Prompto searched Ignis’ face for clues, waiting for the joke to run its course, but in the shifting glow of the flashlight, he could see Ignis was serious, and that he had indeed shed tears. And that he had new glasses frames, and his t-shirt was different, and there was a deep-seated tension furrowing his brow that Prompto had never noticed before.  _ Before. _ As though there was suddenly a  _ then  _ and a  _ now, _ and Prompto being trapped in this room was the separator. 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Prompto ventured, needing to know, but not wanting to hear the answer.

“I wish I weren’t, Prompto. You have no idea how badly I wish it wasn’t true.” He stroked Prompto’s cheek again, tenderly this time, as though Prompto was a memory he was fondly recollecting. It was unsettling. 

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“There were some allusions to time anomalies in the texts, but I never let myself believe them. I  _ hoped, _ of course — I had to, but…” 

_ Okay, Professor Specs, _ Prompto thought. It didn’t seem right to say it out loud. Besides, it was Noctis’ nickname. “So you’re, what, twenty-four now?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve all been—” Prompto wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say—  _ "living _ out there for two years without me?”

Ignis’ expression contorted with unfathomable anguish. “We tried so hard to get through the door. We really did. But there was nothing we could do — you were gone, and the door was sealed tight, and it was too far away to bring machinery in to pull the tower down. I have never felt so helpless in all my life.”

And yet, here he was. 

“But you came back?”

“Of course,” Ignis whispered. “As soon as I could.” He took his glasses off and wiped a tremulous tear from his cheek. “I studied everything I could find on Solheim, and petitioned constantly for full access to the archive. It wasn’t until Noctis pulled some royal strings that I was granted level six clearance, and finally found the oldest-known documentation of Solheim civilisation, and a codex that helped decipher this particular offshoot of the language.” He put his glasses back on. His lip quivered when he spoke again. “I camped outside this ruin countless nights, uncovering and translating every mark I could find, knowing you were in here, and that it was my fault you were gone.”

Prompto was horrified. “Oh my Gods, Ignis, no.” He pulled Ignis back into an embrace, self-conscious about initiating this one. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I irresponsibly read things I didn’t understand.”

“We all wanted you to!”

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah I did. I just complained because I’m tired and I’ve been walking all day, but I was going along with it, same as everyone else. I was just as curious as you were.” Prompto realised he was speaking about this as though it was still current for him — because it was — yet for Ignis, it was far in the past. A new chasm of reality had opened between them: while he’d been groping his way clockwise around an unlit stone chamber, Ignis had spent two years processing his loss, blaming himself and learning everything he possibly could to come back and make amends. And surely he’d never really expected to find Prompto alive… Prompto was reeling to catch up.

Ignis took a deep, shuddering breath, then leaned out of the embrace. “Alright,” he said, giving Prompto another long, lingering look. “Let’s see if I can get us both out again.” He stood, and hauled Prompto to his feet, right up against his side. “Don’t let me go.”

It wasn’t right that Prompto’s heart fluttered in his chest to hear those words. Not when borne from such a practical mindset from a man who’d thought Prompto lost to the world. But hearts cannot be persuaded with rationality, and so part of Prompto soared as Ignis draped an arm around his shoulders and held him close. He wrapped an arm around Ignis’ waist in return, and thus connected, they stood facing the door Prompto had collapsed against, a single circle of it illuminated by the flashlight, showing that what Prompto had felt as regular pockmarks in the stone were actually line after line of the same carved text they’d seen on the ruins outside. And every surface was covered: door, walls and floor alike. Assumedly, the ceiling — however high up — would be similarly adorned.

“Okaaaay, that’s a bit excessive,” Prompto muttered. “What  _ is  _ this place?”

“During my research I found numerous references to a nexus between worlds; a convergence point of some sort, like… well, a really big intersection, I suppose. I suspect that’s what this is.”

“What do you mean ‘between worlds’?”

“I’m not entirely sure — the texts were incomplete and degraded, and what remained was vague and in an ancient language, though not quite as old as this. But if I was going to take a guess, I’d say it’s… interdimensional.”

“Wh...what?” Prompto instinctively clutched a handful of Ignis’ shirt into a white-knuckle grip. “That’s way too sci-fi for me, dude.”

“It’s possible the people of the time thought it gave access to the underworld. That it only opens once a year — on All Hallows’ Eve — supports that theory.”

_ "Oh my Gods, _ ” Prompto whispered, unable to find more adequate words. He wanted to deny it, yet something about this place did feel otherworldly, as though it really could exist in the space between realities. And if two years really had passed outside these walls, when barely minutes had passed within — then maybe it was true. Maybe this was the threshold to somewhere else, no longer part of Eos… “So… What do we do next?” That  _ we  _ bit certainly felt nice.

“Now we find the exit. Apparently, there is only one.” And Ignis gripped his shoulder more tightly. “Are you ready?”

Prompto nodded. 

“Then let’s light this place up.” 

Ignis spoke a single word, wholly unfamiliar to Prompto’s ears, loud in the deadened blackspace, and instantly the room responded: every inscription on the walls, ceiling and floor illuminated with that sickening red glow. It was bright enough that they could see each other in full, painted in florid shades of vermillion, and Prompto gazed up at him in awe as he scanned the walls, focusing on the recesses that delineated doorways, his jaw thrust forward in determination, his body warm and vital in Prompto’s arms. 

“You learned an entire ancient language in two years, for me?”

“One and a half. But I had to wait until tonight to come back through.” Ignis looked down at him. “There’s something I should have told you long ago, Prompto… And if we make it out of here, I promise to remedy my error.” Then he strode purposefully toward one of the doorways, Prompto in tow, and spoke another archaic phrase, and the door heaved open with a resonant, rumbling boom, the stone slab grinding sideways into the wall. Ignis pulled the two of them through, and the door ground closed again behind them. Once again they found themselves trapped in consuming darkness, interrupted only by the ghostlike beam of their flashlight reaching for the far walls. 

“I don’t think it worked,” Prompto said, feeling a fool for stating the obvious.

“It’s as expected,” Ignis said. “We’ll need to make our way through many such rooms.”

“How do you know we can?”

“I don’t. But we’ll find out together.” And in that darkness, Ignis cupped Prompto’s jaw in his hands, and kissed him. 

On top of everything else that had happened, this was by far the most unexpected, the most overwhelming, the most fantastic. Ignis’ lips were soft, hesitant, more promise than fulfilment — a kiss so gentle it felt like a dream. But the longer it lingered between them, the firmer they forged it, making it solid and giving it purpose, pulling it from the realm of dreams and fixing it in their reality. Prompto mewled his bewilderment, and Ignis hummed a response, and then he drew away, but didn’t let go. 

He shouted his ancient word into the room, and again their world flared red all around them, every surface ablaze. They regarded each other in silence a moment, lips moist and pupils wide, and Prompto smiled shyly.

“That was dramatic,” he joked, relieved the red lighting hid his blush. Ignis grinned. 

~

He knew they were kind of in a life or death situation, and knew that for every minute they spent in these preternatural rooms, entire days were passing back on Eos, but still he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it. Instead he was giddy with the revelation of Ignis’ kiss, reliving it second by second, feeling tremors of it ghost through him, electric, with every nerve in his body rewired exclusively to carry its charge. And he was awestruck by the new power Ignis possessed — this language he knew, that brought stone to life, that cut a pathway through this forgotten tomb. Ignis commanded, and the building obeyed, revealing its secrets for him, giving itself away, letting him move deeper into its belly with Prompto, invisible, pulled along in his wake. Ignis was, by far, the greater force; a man who could not be contained. Prompto had always known that; he’d always seen it. None of this truly came as a surprise.

It blew his mind to think Ignis had spent two years working for this very moment, driven to it by guilt and fear… And if the kiss was genuine, perhaps some fondness drove him too? Prompto hoped so. Oh Gods, did he ever hope that was true, and that the kiss wasn’t just an excess of relief; an overflow of emotional elation. Hadn’t Prompto just been steeling himself against a lifetime of heartache? Shuffling through the forest, tired and grumpy. All those simple little fireside fantasies seemed so distant now. How quickly everything could change, and how drastically…

“Iggy?” he called, and Ignis turned his attention from the ghastly flagstones underfoot to Prompto’s upturned face. “Thank you.”

Ignis’ gaze softened, and he squeezed Prompto’s hand. “It’s not over yet.”

“I know, but… Thank you for coming back. I honestly thought nobody would.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not used to being… seen, I suppose.”

Ignis’ brow furrowed again, accustomed now to giving away his puzzlement and pain in ways Prompto wasn’t familiar with. Ignis had two years of practice, all because of him. 

“I’ve always seen you,” Ignis said, his voice a hoarse whisper, rough with emotion.  _ "Always, _ Prompto. Do you understand?”

Prompto nodded, tears welling in his eyes. Ignis wiped them away with a deft stroke from his thumb. 

“Now, let’s see this through.”

Prompto nodded again. “Okay.” And he put on his best smile, and hoped it was enough. There were no words to explain the depth of what he was feeling: not this profound, earth-shattering gratitude, nor the burgeoning fullness of his heart. “Okay,” he whispered again. 

“It’s this one.” Ignis pointed at a doorway. “Come on.” 

~

Each room they entered had many doors around its perimeter, and in each Ignis would pause to read, muttering sometimes as he sounded the language out loud, deciphering and deciding which way they needed to go. Then, with unfaltering conviction, he’d choose a door, then speak the words that bade it open, and they’d pass through into another darkened room identical to the last, which was identical to the one before that, and the one before that, and so on. Not once did he let go of Prompto’s hand. 

“What happens if we choose the wrong door?” Prompto asked once, when Ignis had deliberated overlong on a decision. 

“The underworld will claim us,” Ignis said, matter-of-fact, as though it were as much a piece of trivia as the sky being blue, or the sun being golden. As Noctis being tired, and Gladiolus being an entire boulder sculpted in the form of a man. 

Prompto didn’t ask any more questions after that. Just watched Ignis work, fierce and fixated, determined and unwavering. Saving him. 

Finally, they entered a room much smaller than the rest. Its walls lit on command, just as the others had, but aside from the door they entered by, there was only one other on the opposite wall. One last door to try, and it wasn’t etched by language, wasn’t held hostage by a charged web of words. It was just stone, plain and solid. 

“This should be it,” Ignis said. “The last barrier.”

Despite how differently this moment weighed on each of them, they were both trapped by its gravity, held immobile to the spot by a palpable tension. 

“You should open this one,” Ignis suggested, and nudged Prompto forward.

“Me?!” Prompto squealed his protest. “What do I say? I don’t know the language! What happens if I pronounce something wrong? What happens if it doesn’t understand me?” He was panicking. “You should definitely do it.” He was a coward. “I’m sorry, Iggy, I—”

“Take a breath,” Ignis urged, spreading a reassuring hand wide across the back of Prompto’s neck, stroking it gently. “Just ask for what you want.”

_ You, _ Prompto thought.  _ Us. To hold you again, beyond these walls. For whatever we have between us here to remain. To kiss you again. _

As if sensing his thoughts, Ignis curled around him, pulling Prompto’s back against his chest. He whispered in Prompto’s ear. “Just ask.”

Prompto swallowed. Cleared his throat. Turned his attention to that vacant stone slab. “Let us out.”

For heart-stopping seconds, nothing happened, and Prompto’s pulse quickened with fear, with failure. Then a shaft of sunlight sliced through the room…

~

Compared to the vacuum of sensation within the voidspace of the ruins, everything outside was a barrage of  _ too much. _ Too bright for his eyes, too rich for his lungs, too turbulent despite how gently the breeze ruffled the grass beneath his hands. His empty hands, no longer held tight the way they had been for the last few hours. He’d grown so accustomed to having Ignis’ fingers twined through his own, their absence felt like an open wound. 

“Iggy?” he called out, shocked by the clarity of his own voice in fresh air. The sunlight — the whiteness of it, as well as the brightness — wiped away his sight, and he blinked hard in an effort to dislodge the splotchy blooms that swam through his vision.  _ "Ignis?! _ ” He stood before he could see properly, tripping over rubble, falling, then staggering back to his feet. “Where are you?”

“Right here, Prompto, it’s alright,” Ignis said, and his steadying hands stilled Prompto, putting a stop to his frantic stumbling. “You’re safe; we made it.”

_ We made it. _ He opened his eyes again slowly, finally allowing himself time to adjust. Ignis appeared first as a formless shadow, a silhouette in the dazzling sunlight. Then he clarified, each detail of him crystalising brilliant and clear. He had his eyes closed against the brightness too, and in those stolen seconds, Prompto studied him properly. Had it really been two years? Ignis looked the same as he always had: breathtakingly beautiful, high cheekbones and curved lips and finely arched brows, a few artful freckles Prompto had always been enamoured with, so different to the frenzied, liberal spatter of Prompto’s own...

Then Ignis’ eyelids fluttered open, and he heaved a sigh, then swayed, and for the first time Prompto realised how exhausted he was — how every room they’d been through had sapped Ignis of his vitality, depleting him until he had nothing left. He slumped onto the grass at Prompto’s feet. 

“I’m alright,” he mumbled, holding onto Prompto’s leg for stability. “I just need a minute.”

Prompto sat beside him, and Ignis leaned forward, and pressed a long, sweet, tired kiss to Prompto’s lips.

“I don’t understand,” Prompto confessed. “What changed? Why are you— well, you know… Why now?”

“Nothing changed. I was too afraid to do anything about it, before. And then I feared I was too late. Am I?”

Prompto bit his lip and shook his head emphatically. His heart was going to burst. Tears prickled his eyes again. Hope spread through him, warm and wonderful and fluttering, lighter than air. “Is that what you promised to tell me if we made it out alive?”

“I should’ve told you years ago.” He lay back in the golden grass, pulling Prompto with him. 

“Maybe I should’ve told you too, then.”

Ignis chuckled. “I wish you had!”

“Yeah, but you’re...”

“I’m what, Prompto?”

You’re  _ Ignis, _ Prompto wanted to say, as if that would explain everything. “The most amazing person I’ve ever met.” They were woefully inadequate words. He rested his head on Ignis’ chest. “And I’m just—”

“The kindest, most genuine and cutest person I’ve ever known?”

“I’m not cute, Iggy.” He felt ordinary, at best, especially by comparison to the company he kept. 

“When have I ever lied to you?”

_ Never. _ Prompto had seen Ignis lie, for various reasons: to cover for Noctis; to call someone’s bluff; to protect the crown; to keep his secrets, and those of his closest friends. But he’d never once lied to Prompto. In fact, looking back, he shared more of himself than Prompto gave him credit for: all those stories Ignis told, all the time he gave so willingly, all the moments he got caught up babbling about the new things he’d learned, the books he’d read, the places he wanted to visit and the things he wanted to do — he’d opened up often, and deeply, which Prompto knew he didn’t do for everyone. Hardly anyone at all, in fact.

“Never,” he whispered aloud, to finally answer Ignis’ question.

“Then believe me when I say my heart has been yours from the very first moment we met. That’s what I promised to tell you.”

~

## Epilogue

It took three days for them to be located and collected. Ignis had packed meagre rations and a locator beacon, and he and Prompto sheltered in each other’s arms while they watched that beacon flash its signal into the world. They didn’t know where they were — they didn’t know  _ when  _ they were — but eventually an Imperial dropship darkened the sky above their heads, giving some clue they had likely switched continents entirely, and that the overgrown wood they’d emerged into was about as far away from home as it was possible to be.

Noctis and Gladiolus were lowered down to them, emotional with excitement and relief. Gladiolus had grown his hair long, and wore in a ponytail. Noctis had lost the softness of his youth, and was handsome, hardened and commanding. They rushed Prompto and Ignis at a run, smothering them in an all-encompassing hug, refusing to let either of them go. Prompto was, at that moment, the centre of the universe.

“How long has it been?” Ignis asked cautiously.

“Five years since you left,” Noctis said. “Seven since we lost Prompto.”

“Seven years?!” Prompto screeched, unable to help it.  _ "Seven?! _ ”

“We never gave up,” Gladiolus said. 

“We checked for your signal every day,” Noctis added.

“Let’s go home,” Ignis said.

“All four of us, just how it should be.” Gladiolus crushed them all even tighter.

“We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Prompto nodded. It really had been one hell of a day.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Roshy! Believe it or not, I set out to fill your request for “soft promnis,” thinking I’d add a side-serve of Halloween-ish elements, and… well, this fell out!  
> Wishing you a very Happy Holidays :)


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